


50 states, 50 lines

by fullbodykiss



Series: On The Road [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Related, Angsty Schmoop, Dean is a Little Shit, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Humor, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Music, Social Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 04:52:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10914720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullbodykiss/pseuds/fullbodykiss
Summary: Sam takes a day long bus drive, fully planning on sleeping it through.How couldn't he have considered any wannabe cowboys?





	50 states, 50 lines

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> **AUTHOR'S NOTE**  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> [1] Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, just spiced 'em up. Title is taken from Sarah Jaffe's _Clementine_.
> 
> [2] This can be interpreted as anything. As soon as it enters your mind, it's your version of the story.
> 
> [3] You can go to American College at age seventeen, right?  
> Alternative: Sam just skipped a few grades. Legit enough.

 

 

## 

50 states, 50 lines 

  


_50 crying all the time's_

 

 

 

~

 

The sun hadn't peeked out behind the forests just yet, but dawn was coming with orange and pink. 

Nonetheless, it was a grey day in late autumn for the boy striding forward through the fallen leaves on the pavement.  
The wind rubbed and tugged at his skin under the streetlamps. 

Autumn. 

Cars were already driving and honking. Work, school, relatives; they all were on their way somewhere.  
Sam was, too. And every other morning, he'd be on a different line. 

Today, his somewhere was a black scene of heartache. 

A dog was barking outside one of the small houses lined up to the east. By the time he reached the bus stop, he was shivering all over. Definitely should've put something on over the sweater. 

His hands were too stiff to skip the sad song on his phone, leaving no choice but to wait it out. There was a piano, and slow beats, and a glassy voice breaking at the end of an unexplainable lyric.  
The travel bus appeared behind a corner, moving slowly over the fallen leaves. It came to a stop almost silently, only two seconds after the song had ended, and Sam's mind was thinking dark. 

Lucky him, the driver had turned up the heating. His skin started burning and moving once he stepped inside. 

He paid so-so and then some, his eyes already choosing a place somewhere far in the back, on the right side from his perspective, where the sickle-shaped moon said goodbye beside the clouds. 

Nobody else was there, muting the pressure of being watched. 

He'd got this thing.  
The moment anyone spared him so much as a glance, Sam started caring about the most ridiculous shit.  
Like if his height made him stand out, or if his hair was dull, if his ratty traveling clothes made him look homeless, if he was doing something embarrassing and not realizing it.  
Put simply, whenever he was around someone who wasn't close - everyone except two people on the dot - he thought about what gruesome things people might think about him, his past and his brain. 

It was devastating. Made him sweat. 

  
Anyway. 

Now that he was unobserved, he generously let his body spread over the double seat, enjoying the first hours of the ride with only the rumble of the engine. 

It wasn't him who lost the game. 

It was his best friend.  
She was alive, indeed; not a winner. Always seeing things from a brighter perspective, always kind; not a winner. 

Those who win, he thought, are the ones unaffected, who hear a number on the radio and try to care as much as they can. Whose lives keep turning when they hear the breaking news. 

Open, kind Jess still hadn't replied to his text or mailbox messages.  
That's how he knew it was worse than he could estimate.  
She had collapsed.  
And nobody was to blame. Old desperation won't stop nagging at him, let me help, I want to _help_ , I want to help.  
If only he could blame it on someone, take it all out on them.  


He couldn't, really. 

Not even himself. 

 

Sam plugged his earplugs in and put his music on shuffle; leaned his side against the glass. 

He couldn't change a thing. 

 

~ 

 

His eyes stayed closed for one and another station, until he felt the bus roll to a stop once again. 

This time, there were low voices coming closer, talking through Springsteen's _I'm On Fire_. 

Sam peeked through the eyelashes of his right eye, only to make out someone's jean-ripped bow knees sauntering through the aisle. 

Naturally, he tried to look asleep. 

It wasn't hard.  
He'd slowly been drifting into a state of numbness for the past half an hour, not a care in the world.  
Not even about what he looked like. Not even now. 

He was okay. 

 

When he felt the glass vibrating under his cheekbone, he knew the bus was moving again. 

  
He thought about his room, home.  
The lawn. Yesterday he'd forgotten to mow. Without a doubt, Bobby was going to make him do it as soon as he'd arrive back home tomorrow. 

A calm song was just fading out into silence, and Sam fully expected to doze off right then and there -- butting in, a shadow was cast across the dots behind his eyelids. 

"Heya", it huffed, faint breath hitting his nose. 

His eyes shot open. 

The first thing his alarmed senses perceived, comically, was a grey backrest. His body had slipped from the window down the seats, head lolled to the side. When he looked up, he saw that his own hair, sticking up in all directions, was his only part still touching the glass. 

His muscles jumped when he noticed the eyes peering over said backrest. 

Twitch and crack, he scrambled to get into a better position. Wasn't all that easy. His neck had gone stiff. 

Once sitting upright, into full view came a blond guy with some freckles, sitting the wrong way 'round in his seat. He was wearing a hoodie, printed _How Bout Them Cowboys_ in an obnoxious double-framed font.  
All in all, he was a bit of a Ken doll. 

Apart from the bus driver chatting with two elderly, sunhat wearing farmers in the front, they were the only people in here. 

Sam frowned, pulling out one of his earbuds with the force and speed of two snails carrying a wagon of cement. 

"Who are you." His voice was scratchy from disuse. 

Ken guy seemed to be delighted to be asked that question. Or amused. There was no telling.  
He held out his hand, "I'm Dean", bling-bling smiley eyes. 

Sam didn't shake his hand. 

"I'm not much older than I look", guy added, somewhat expectant.  
Hah.  
He didn't look older than 20, probably just learned how to shave. 

  
Sam still didn't take the hand.  
Instead he grunted, "You always do this?" 

"Do what?", Ken-Dean went to throw off his rucksack as if he was home. 

Sam's fingers were drumming on the narrow window sill. "Talk to strangers on the bus?" 

Guy stared at him hard, unblinking.  
Then said: "No, I know you." 

Sam quit drumming. " _Pardon?_ " 

Who the hell did this creep think he was? John Doe? 

"Dunno, man. Look familiar. All I know is, I know you from. Somewhere." He shrugged, tilting his head.  
"You famous? I watch tons of movies." 

His shoulders stayed up, showing just a fraction of qualm.  
Which made Sam feel less underpowered, somehow. 

"Dude, I'm sorry, but I've never seen you before in my entire life", he stated with a wry smile, cocking his head for emphasis.  
Pretty sure I'd remember _that_ monk, he thought with a pointed eyeroll. 

Guy nodded once, then looked away. 

Naturally, amazingly, this pointless conversation finally found an ending. 

Now life could continue being perfectly cruel and bearable without any further interruptions. 

  
Except not. Apparently. 

Instead of following unspoken moral rules and moving to a different seat like Sam kind of expected him to, Dean stayed right where he was. He even had the nerve to answer Sam's glares with guilty grins when he was caught glancing. 

Either he was ornery as a mule, or enough of a bonehead not to get the message.  
Weren't deeply buried earplugs equal to a neon blinking _BACK OFF, WORLD_ sign on one's forehead? 

And Sam knew, by the twinkle of those eyes, that if he himself moved to a different seat, this moron would just keep following him around. 

Flattery and stuff aside, Sam honestly just wanted to be left alone. 

So he turned up the volume, closed his eyes once again, and tried to get some real sleep - brainless Kens and Deans be damned. 

 

~

 

Stubborn sunlight pushed through his eyelids, making them glow in orange. 

If only it had been storming, to match. Sun just made it worse, made him lay a clothed arm over his eyes and pretend it's night. 

It wasn't like Jess had ever been close to her mother.  
Sam knew that. She'd been living with her dad, saving up money as a minimum wage fast-food-chain employee to afford college. 

That was where he had met her, just three semesters ago.  
It had been late, Kyle and José had wanted to grab burgers. She'd messed up an order and apologized six times.  
They'd been mimicking her stutters, laughing and slapping the table.  
Sam hadn't said anything, and they'd left without leaving a tip.  
Twenty minutes later he'd finally stopped walking, ignoring the bile of anxieties climbing his throat as he ran way back to declare himself a jerk. 

And somehow, she had become the first _good_ friend, the first one who'd asked about his parents, and what his name meant, and why he couldn't breathe in crowds.

He hadn't known any of the answers.  
But that had never been the point. 

  
In that time, he'd never seen her on the verge of crying.  
Although he'd always carried concern for her, he hadn't known how to handle this sudden situation. 

_'Course I'll come with you_ , he'd said to her. She'd been embraced by his arms, her eyes leaving wetness on the fabric of his pullover.  
She hadn't made one sound the entire time. 

  
Turned out that her dad wanted his daughter to drive with himself, in their truck.  
That's how Sam had ended up in a bus. 

All in black, but without the crying sky. 

Funny. 

 

~

 

Sam's stomach had started growling about five minutes ago, and he firmly pressed his arms tighter around his torso. 

Now he began to figure out the trigger. 

It was this strong smell of something salty and hearty that had hit his nose, forced him to wake up. 

Soon enough, someone patted his shoulder, and a deep voice started blabbering. 

Sam sighed, and removed one earbud once again.  
"What?!" 

"Where you headin' to?", Dean asked, muffled by his full mouth. He was chewing on a bacon sandwich, the source of the garlic and meat flavored smell. 

Despite being starving, Sam wrinkled his nose. "None of your business." 

Dean groaned long and heavy, as if _he_ was being the stubborn one. "Oh, come on. I've given you my name." 

"Don't care. Didn't ask." 

Guy looked up at him, still chewing on three bites.  
Sam tried not to blink as he stared right back, tried not to sniff the air. 

After Dean had swallowed, he pointed at his sandwich, eyes not leaving Sam's. "There's more where this comes from." 

Sam's back straightened carefully, otherwise upholding nonchalance. "Your mom?" 

Dean rolled his eyes towards the mysterious rucksack. "There, bitch. Got another sandwich with tomatoes and cucumber; chopped 'em myself this morning. Proper salt and pepper, alright. Basic'ly a salad." 

Sam blinked. "Basic'ly." 

He wished he'd known what exactly was going on in this guy's mind. Oh, and why he kept advertising himself and his belongings like a drug dealer gone mental. 

Dean started smirking.  
"Oi", he sang. "Knew it." 

"Knew _what_?", Sam demanded, crossing his arms. There was nothing to know. 

"You're a salad guy." 

Before he could argue, _the fuck is wrong with vitamins_ , Dean rummaged in his rucksack and got out the crushed sandwich, halfway wrapped in napkins and transparent foil. 

"Eat up."  
He shoved it under Sam's nose, which was just beyond manipulation. 

But considering his chances of survival, his tight budget and that _smell_ , it might actually end up saving his young life. 

He took the package only reluctantly.

When next ten awkward seconds passed without any bomb going off - which didn't make sense anyway, it was more likely to be poisoned - he began piling off the layers of wrapping.

"So", Dean drawled, sounding too smug and too much from the Midwest.  
He leaned back into his crossed hands against the back of the seat opposite his.  
Didn't look cozy.  
"Back to the topic." His eyes gleamed with mischief.  
"Marvel or DC?" 

Sam, interrupted, knitted his forehead. "That was never topic." 

Dean swore under his breath, then sat up and spoke insanely fast. "You know shot questions, right, I wanted to ask shot questions - then you would'a answered so quickly, you would'a not noticed me throwin' in a personal question, and you'd answer it and be like, 'Oh shit, now he got me. What a genius.'" 

Sam snorted twice and shook his head, his fingers carrying on again.  
"Things like that only ever work in shitty courtroom series." 

Dean pursed his lips. "That so?" 

"Yup." Sam took his first tiny bite. 

Wasn't all that bad, maybe.  
_Maybe._

"A'ight. So you're a suitcase guy." 

Sam paused mid-chew, and Dean's whole face lit up in surprise. 

"I'm right?!"  
He hit the seat with his open palms, making a girl on the other side flinch. "Holy _shit_! You're a lawyer." 

"Not... quite", Sam mumbled, diagnosing Dean's reaction. "Law student."  
Then, "You stalk me or somethin'?" 

Dean's eyes widened even further, and he raised his hands in defense. "I would never. Y'know, my second guess woulda been actor, 'cause you said series after courtroom." 

Sam eyed him some more - trying to look just as suspicious, but less intimidating than previously. Not that that had worked. "That's stupid." 

Dean turned halfways to grab something else from his bag.  
Sam helplessly tracked every movement.  
Guy's a stranger, he reminded himself.  
He couldn't just trust anyone, no matter how ... tolerable they might seem. 

"Here." 

It was a bottle of sparkling water. 

When Sam didn't take it at first, Dean took a deep breath.  
"Fine. Lemme show you how it's done." 

He quickly opened the bottle and took a few long sips, making a show of a loud burp afterwards.  
"Check." The bottle was thrust towards Sam again. 

"Now the san'wich." 

Secretly grateful, Sam took the water and started helping his desert of a mouth while handing him the food. 

Dean also took bites of that.  
He was munching it in a decidedly derisive way, with long nods and appreciative sounds. "Yes, yum. So yum. Not poison-y." 

"Poisonous." 

When Sam received the three-quarter sandwich back, he almost didn't want his low murmured _thanks_ to be heard. 

But something about Dean's slow blinks meant something.  
Awareness, comprehension. Trust was hard to give, and he was willing to earn it and learn it.  
Or something like that. 

 

~

 

"You know Bon Iver?", Dean asked suddenly. 

Sam, eating, gave him a _look._

Dean sighed. "Yeah, my mom's a fan." 

"Uh. Huh." 

Dean pointed at him. "Now that sounded kinda sardonic." 

"Don't interpret me", Sam snipped, and swallowed.  
When he was done, he wiped his hands on his black pants. The wrappings he pressed into a tight ball, then stood up and carried it to the bin standing on top of the tiny toilet cabin. 

When he came back, Dean had draped his socked feet on top of the backrest in front of him, earning dirty looks from the elder couple sitting in the middle. 

Sam tried to give him a clip 'round the ears, but had terribly, terribly underestimated Dean's reflexes.  
He got blocked with one arm, grabbed by wrist and pushed against his ribs in a the matter of a second. 

"Woah, I didn't, uh, mean to -",  
Eyes bulging and heart pumping, he was trying not to wince - guy was clutching his wrist _just_ a tad too roughly. 

On spur of moment, Dean was grinning at him like a wicked man. He released Sam as quick as he had grabbed him, head resting back on his rucksack.  
"Took an HTH-combat course with my boyfriend last year." 

"Okay", Sam breathed, willing his pulse to come down. "Alright. Good to know." 

Dean hummed. "Been practicing ever since." 

"I see." Sam inspected his wrist, which, yeah, would be blue in a few days. 

Dean's expression fell a little, his adam's apple shifting. "Hey, uh. I'm sorry. Prob'ly went a bit too harsh on you. T'was kinda reflex." 

"Nah, it's fine", Sam exhaled. He let himself fall back into his seat. 

The sky was starting to bloom colors, reminding him that summer had left.  
He looked at the red clock digits above the front window.  
Five thirty-eight. 

That's when Dean asked what he'd do if Indiana Jones stepped through those bus doors right now. 

Sam rather countered back, wondering how Indiana Jones would get on a bus driving in the middle of a multi-lane highway, and why Indiana Jones would voluntarily get on a bus with _you, Dean_. 

Yeah, he got hit for that. 

Feather-lightly. 

 

~

 

The bus stopped at a petrol station. 

While the driver was heading towards the restrooms, they agreed to slip out and buy some snacks. 

Dean looked different underneath the lights of the store. 

He wasn't exactly taller than Sam himself, though it had seemed like it when they'd met. 

At some point, and God knows where, Dean found a small plastic cowboy hat.  
And once it sat on his head, slim elastic band framing his face, there was no going back.  
Now he started bouncing around more broad-legged than he already did, cocking his head to make sure he owned Sam's full attention. 

"Grow any higher, son", Dean squinted, perhaps trying to sound like Clint Eastwood, "I can, and I _will_ end you. This is a threat." 

Sam cleared his throat, swallowing the tickling laughter. "Oh yeah?" 

"Oh yeah. This land", Dean's lips started twitching, "This land, it's not big enough for us both. Ya hear me."  
A single sound escaped his mouth, not at all that badass.  
No matter how much good Sam could scrape from the insides of his soul, he just couldn't pass it off as a snarl. 

"Ridiculous. You're ridiculous", he declared, only now realizing how loud they must be, drunk on tiredness in the middle of the night and butthurt from all sitting, sitting. 

"That so?", Dean stepped towards him, not a care about receiving the cashier's pointed stinky eye. "I demand a duel." 

Sam stepped back in time with his steps, trying to bite back a noise. An uneasy feeling crawled up his spine. 

He should. Should go find the potato chips they'd originally been after. 

 

~

 

"No, I don't get it. Elvis is lame." 

"Denial don't make it less a lie", Sam reminded with a side glance. He was scrolling through his songs, since Dean had stolen the left earbud and insisted on judging his music taste. 

Sometimes he'd go, "What's that", and just reach forward to press play with a calloused middle finger. 

Two options. Either he'd nod his head to the beat and respectively scribble the song title on his arm with a pen from Sam's dirty gym bag, or he'd yank his earbud out after a total five seconds and frantically shake his head. 

The only inbetween occurred when a well-known guitar intro started playing, kicking the somewhere above their heads.  


 

 

Dean didn't comment on the song. 

 

 

Sam didn't comment on the hard blinking. 

 

 

Together, they stared at yellow lines that kept coming and coming and coming. 

 

~

 

Turns out Dean was overpassionate about old time rock.  
If being too passionate about that was a thing. 

Sam had to fight a genuine smile when Dean found a Metallica song - which, to be honest, Sam always skipped when it came on shuffle - and started rocking his head to the sides with vigor, drumming with his palms on the backrest between them. 

People looked, probably. 

People liked judging when they were bored. 

Somehow, there was too much else to care about. 

 

~

 

At 7:56 PM, he finally got his first text back. 

_I can't_ , it said simply. 

His smile dimmed. 

For some reason, he wasn't much surprised. 

_Everyone will understand_ , he typed, though that wasn't true.  
Nobody really understood. Or maybe not him, never had a mother to miss. 

But everyone would try. 

 

 

So. What now? 

  
And rationally, he knew what to do.

Tie his shoes, stop the bus. See if he can catch one driving the opposite direction. 

Back home.  
Where the grass was getting high and _On The Road_ was waiting on the nightstand, a bookmark sandwiched between the last pages.

He looked at Dean snoring next to him, two chins and fat lips out. 

Easy. 

He should just stand up and go. Leave his phone number or something, and that'd be it. How do you say goodbye to a stranger, anyway?  
Just _go_ , he probably didn't have enough money for the whole way back, and who liked tall dirty hitchhikers at night?  
Yeah, not soccer moms on their way home from Tupperware parties.

He pictured himself a minute from now, stepping up the front with the bag dangling from his fingers, asking the driver to pull over, please. 

 

A minute from now became a minute from then. 

His feet didn't move an inch. 

 

~

 

"Stop it." 

"Stop what?" 

"Stop... weirding around", he said, drawing irregular shapes into the air. "You just wanna be weird. You're not weird." 

Dean only winked, and continued staring through the holes he'd cut into the cowboy hat. 

All he did was snicker when Sam started slapping his arm, one small flinch when a hit landed on his ribs. 

 

Curled his fingers in like he'd been burned. 

 

~

 

Bored Dean abducted the Huawei from his hands. "What's your passcode?" 

Sam looked at him. 

Dean smirked. "Yeah, just kidding."  
He'd already seen it twice during their music session. 

And so Sam watched round fingers flying over the numbers.  
Twenty-five, nineteen, three. 

"I'm in", Dean spoke into an invisible walkie-talkie. 

"Don't open the gallery." 

 

"Dude, I said _don't_ open the gallery." 

"Sorry. Thought you were hiding nudes." 

Sam had no idea what to say to that.  
_Excuse me? Excuse you?_

But Dean was already swiping back and forth through his Camera Roll. 

"Aw, who's that?" 

"The neighbour's kid." 

"And that?" 

"A turtle." 

"Nice turtle. Where'd you find it?" 

"Pinterest." 

"Oh. Who's that?" 

"My... dad." 

"Hm." 

After speed-swiping through a row of one-time-use screenshots, Dean let out a whistle. "Hel-lo, smurfs." 

Sam swallowed. "That's my friend." 

She was smiling, holding a crumpled Redbull can in her hand. That must'd been their second _Lord of The Rings_ marathon, almost a year ago. 

"Your friend." 

"My friend", he repeated. 

Dean nodded along with raised brows, mockery and exaggeration. 

Oh my god. 

" _Dude._ "  
He waited until Dean looked up. Then raised his wrist. "See that?" 

Let it wiggle, sleeve sliding up. 

Too-open eyes stared at the frizzling, washed out bracelet. The moment they looked away, Dean's ears changed color. 

"Whatever." 

 

~

 

"C'mon. Ask me anything." 

"Stupid."  
But hey. He could do stupid. Already did.   
He asked the third thing that had been sitting in his mind. 

 

Dean densed up for one microsecond. 

"Well", Dean began - and, surprising enough, burst out laughing. 

He kept it up for one minute straight, his face red and eyes shiny. He was also repeatedly shaking his head. 

"No, no. He's, uh. He -", he got out while he tried to calm down, still shaking. 

Sam gave his best to maintain a perfect pokerface. The sound was loud. He could be reeling. 

Dean seemed to get it together, nodding and grinning and nodding and nodding.  
"Nerd", he coughed, obviously forcing himself to stay serious, his eyes still crinkling around the edges.  
"Dorky...", he gestured around with his hand, then coughed into it, "uh, hipster. Yanno." 

Sam nodded.  
"Cool", he said.  
Sounding lame, but he meant it. He was wise not to point out something marital. 

They fell into a silence that wasn't overly uncomfortable. 

 

~

 

"Oi! Look at the lady", Dean shout-whispered, sending a gleeful smile his way. 

Sam raked his neck. "Which -? Oh." 

"Yup." 

"I like her hat. It's... fluffy." 

"Me too", Dean said, jumping in his seat, "Let's tell her." 

Warm. 

Sam's hand closed into a fist. All's warm.  
"Uh. Gotta pass." 

" _Why?_ " 

"Her dog. Look at her dog." 

"What dog?" 

"In her purse." 

"Oh. Yeah, I see it..." Pause.  
"Oh, fuck. It wants to murder me." 

Breath out. "See. I told you." 

"You did." 

"I did", Sam nodded, "I win." 

Dean's expression turned bound and determined.  
"Have you got paper?" 

Sam raised a brow.  
"Thought you prefer your arm." 

"Can you fold an airplane?" 

He huffed and puffed and hated everything about this, but was already digging through his bookbag.  
"I am seventeen." 

"And I don't care", Dean beamed. "Got some?" 

"I guess." 

 

 

They earned the brightest, whitest smile.  
Sam even got a pink lipstick smack on the cheek, matching furiously blushing skin. 

"I keep the plane", Lady said in a strong, foreign accent. North Asia, maybe. "You boys, so nice. Ochen' krasivyy, ochen' krasivyy." 

 

~

 

His battery died at nine pm. 

 

~

 

At eleven thirty, just when they had passed a small town in Pennsylvania, Dean went still. 

It was an outerworld experience. He quit smiling, and talking, and bouncing his knee all at once. 

Sam, for some reason, tensed up right away. Guy looked kinda intimidating when he hadn't that easy smirk glued on his face. 

"What", he said, sounding a lot less demanding than he had intended to. 

Dean inhaled.  
"That, uh", he mumbled, "Think that was my stop." 

Oh. 

Something pulled in Sam's chest. 

He didn't want to be alone.  
Which was kind of a big deal. He'd always concluded that riding the bus _alone_ was one of the best things in the world. No one else but him and music. 

Smiling back shouldn't be counted as trying.  
He didn't want to be a _reason_ , interfere. Mess up someone's business. 

 

Dean stayed in his seat, for now. 

He stayed for one, two, ten more minutes. 

They didn't talk. 

 

~

 

Next station. The bus came to a stop. The doors opened, and Sam held his breath. 

 

Dean stayed right in his seat.

His teeth were buried deep in skin, and what could possibly be going on in that mind? 

Sam tried to express all of his musings through his frown, but. No reaction. In fact, if he didn't know better, he'd say Dean was staring right through him. 

That, or Sam was silently ordered to be the one to indicate _something_. A spark. 

Setting off anything, really. It didn't matter, as long as the silence would stop stretching between them, distancing their mindsets. 

"So, uh", he began, easily catching Dean's attention, face open and curious. "Global warming sucks, eh?" 

The outcome was priceless. Dean gaped at him for several seconds, a thrown off expression if Sam had ever seen one.  
Well, what had he expected? 

All of a sudden, it seemed like an obscure thought had occurred to Dean, causing a sharp laugh to be ripped out of him. 

"Talk -", he shook his head between chuckles, "Talk about an ice breaker." 

Now, Sam really couldn't help the unattractive snort-cough he let out. 

Unbelievable. Just unbelievable.   
Seconds ago, he was fearing that the comfortable, edging-to-unreal atmosphere had officially passed.  
And next thing he knows. 

"Not cool", he said, sounding too relieved for that matter. 

"Not cool indeed", Dean agreed heartily, stifling a yawn as he continued grinning. "Get it." 

Sam, on the other hand, just kept on shaking his head. 

Unbelievable. 

 

~ 

 

And Dean stayed. Stayed in the bus for three, four more stations, and Sam didn't even want to question why.  
They talked about nothing, really; just sat and munched on the last chips. 

Eventually, Dean tried to balance one from his forehead to his mouth. And failed. He started cursing when he accidentally crushed the chip that had fallen onto his seat, and Sam watched him try and push the little crumbs away. 

Maybe they'd just.  
Live on. 

Or maybe not. 

 

~

 

"Goodbye", Sam mumbled into the blue hoodie. 

"Don't say it, champ", were Dean's words, last ones, before he slipped through closing doors. 

  
Right. 

Sam blinked as the bus started rolling. 

Because that would happen without exchanging numbers or addresses or anything. 

He knew he'd regret not looking back, so he jumped up to hunch on the seats in the back of the bus to see Dean rest his weight against the bus stop sign, smiling sweetly, looking at him. 

Slow motion of eyes widening sharply. Stumbling over the words he shouted in panic.  
Sam couldn't hear him anymore. 

"Sam Winchester", he shouted back, flinching at the sudden volume. And again, louder: "Sam Winchester!" 

Dean instantly stopped in his tracks, mouth open, face white. 

He didn't look panicked anymore.  
It was something different. 

Something ill. 

Sam watched the silhouette go distinct. 

It didn't move. 

He swallowed.  
He could almost imagine the sadness, the pressure, the grief hit him harder than before. The sun had been swallowed by the horizon. 

 

~

 

He never understood. 

When the bus rounded the corner and he turned around to all the people in the bus looking at him and he started sweating; or when he arrived at his apartment to a girl sleeping on his porch; or when Bobby died two years later - the seasons changed, the paycheck changed, his hair grew out, and he didn't understand why. 

 

  
Or if. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

soundtrack 

 

*  
_overkill_  
by colin hay 

*  
_brothers in arms_  
by dire straits 

*  
_i'm on fire_  
by bruce springsteen 

*  
_don't you (forget about me)_  
by simple minds

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this was a shortie, but do you want a meet-again sequel?  
> jokes on you, i already started writing.
> 
> comments/kudos are always, always appreciated.
> 
> x thea


End file.
